Love
by vanete druse
Summary: The story of Esme and Carlisle.


Ashland was nothing more than a quaint with its grouping of houses and shops, all tightly packed together like God was just waiting to place it in a box and tie it with a nice ribbon. From her vantage point, she could see the whole town, box-like with its numerous yet small buildings and townspeople that appeared ant-like to her, if her eyes hadn't been blurred by tears and misery. What had she done to deserve such a horrific life? Her abusive husband, her unsupportive parents...and now, her sparkling ray of light, her beautiful baby boy, gone. Without even a struggle or a fight, he was just...gone.

She chocked back a sob and felt her knees shake. It was now or never. The townsfolk would notice her disappearance from her unexplained absence at the school house, and by that time, she hoped to be gone, without a struggle, just like her precious son. Trembling slightly, she put two feet upon the edge of the rocky cliff, closed her eyes, and took a straight dive into the abyss. For a moment, she felt as though she were floating in the air, suspended between life and death, before gravity pulled her downwards and she plummeted onto the rocks, rolling down the side almost soundlessly, before coming to a stop upon a grassy path along the bottom of the mountainous hill, commonly used by the more athletic of the townsfolk as a morning or evening run. Not even a second had gone by before an evening jogger came across her bruised body. Rushing for help, it wasn't until quite some time after the jump that she was actually laying in the hospital, pronounced dead.

But one doctor knew. On such a slow night as that particular one in small Ashland, no one noticed the handsome gentleman slip into the morgue, following the scent of her and the sound of her softly ticking heart. Never had he seen as fragile a person as she appeared to him that night, all busted and broken like a roughly used toy no longer loved. With a touch so light it held no merit to that of a feather, he tucked a strand of butterscotch colored hair behind her ear, matted and wild from the fall. He could still smell the tears on her cheeks, feel the suffering emanating off of her. "Why are you here, like this, Miss Esme Platt?"

_It was a warm afternoon. The summer breeze rustled the leaves and branches yet left the house stifling, its occupants lethargic and tired in the temperature. It was far too much for her to be inside that oven, just simmering until golden brown crispiness._

So she was outside, pulling on her long skirts, laughing with herself. The large, sturdy oak was hers, and had seen her though September studies and November crushes. But the best of all was the summer adventures, running around it and scaling the thick branches that could support her weight. Ever since she had entered what was considered "adulthood", she hadn't been able to let go of those memories until she obsessed over the idea of once again playing in the tree like a child, if only for an hour.

Everyone was inside, leaving her all on her lonesome, without anyone to berate her on her immaturity. She began the climb to her favorite branch, just two branches up, pulling herself easily up to the first one. She had miscalculated the difference in her weight from when she was a child, believing it to be closer in numbers than it truly was, and before she had a chance to pull herself up and over the second branch, the one she stood upon cracked and fell, with herself along with it. Her wail pierced through the humidity, cutting the maid free of the lazy feeling that surrounded her, running to the fallen women's side. "Oh Miss Platt, Miss Platt, what did you do?"

"I fell out of the tree," Miss Platt whispered, tears overflowing her face. She attempted to stand but a searing pain ripped through her right leg, causing more tears and screams. "Oh my Goodness, my leg! Sally, my leg, I think it may have broken!"

Sally the maid quickly fetched her parents, who shook their heads in shame at the cracked branch but said no words of scorn. "Well, Dr. Gardner is out of town right now. I reckon a family crisis," Mr. Platt scratched his chin in thought, "So I suppose we will have to go up to the hospital."

By this time, the sun was already setting, casting pink and orange tones upon the Earth around them. On their travel to the hospital, she attempted to focus on the sunset to ease the pain, but to no avail; it continuously rose up to meet her in hot waves of fury whenever she believed it to be controlled. The site of the hospital, a little ominous in the darkness that had evolved along the way, was suddenly welcomed. It was a place of health, and to be well was something she fervently wished for in the present situation. With the help of her father and Sally, she limped inside, allowing her father to describe to the receptionist that her leg was broken.

Because of the time and location, she waited only mere moments to be admitted. This was one instance where she was glad to be in such a desolate city; with her pain, she did not want to wait. She wanted to be treated.

She was eased onto the bed that the nurse motioned to before running off to fetch the doctor. Hospitals were never her favorite place, for they were much too dull and impersonal, not to mention ridden with germs. No doubt most doctors and nurses got as sick as their patients, possibly even more frequently. How horrific. She shuddered slightly at the thought.

The click of heels against the tile flooring gave away the doctor's entrance. She was expecting a doctor like their local one, Paul Gardner, who was rather old and almost senile at times, but what appeared before her was positively mind-blowing. Tall and handsome, his blonde hair was slicked back to show a pale white face and glistening golden eyes. "Miss Esme Platt," he said in a chipper tenor tone, like music to her ears. "My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

"Hello, Dr. Cullen," She murmured, her face heating up considerably.

"What brings you to the hospital at such a late hour?" Dr. Carlisle questioned, pulling up a chair beside her bed with his clipboard and fountain pen in hand.

"I fell out of a tree and believe to have broken my right leg." She couldn't stifle a slight giggle at how childish the statement sounded, but the handsome doctor didn't seem to give any indication that it was amusing to him as he jotted something down on the paper, even though she believed she saw a flicker of a smile for just a heartbeat.

"Interesting. I suppose the tree didn't take too kindly to being taken advantage of, eh?" This time he cracked a smile words her, making her flush and laugh a little. Somehow this young doctor made her feel at ease in a place she usually felt a little nervous in, and she couldn't be more grateful.

"I suppose it did not, sir." She smiled back at him, watching him place the clipboard on the bed beside her. He gently touched her right leg, his ice cold fingers touching her over-heated skin with such a softness that it brought up a yearning for more. It almost felt as though he were holding back significantly, as if he were afraid that anything other than the lightest grasp would shatter her. And with just one touch, she knew that he was who she wanted. Or, at least, someone just as gentle as he was. He looked up to see her watching him and their eyes met and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Whether or not the good doctor realized it, with just one caress, the sixteen year old Esme Platt had fallen in love with him.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen fought the burning itch behind his eyes, knowing it was nothing but an imagined feeling; he had no more tears to cry, but if he had, no doubt they would have fallen by then. How could such a young, beautiful women do this? His fingers flitted across her cheek, still feeling the terrifyingly faint heartbeat emanating off of her. It was certainly an impulsive decision to condemn her, but then again, he had done the same three years earlier with his male companion, Edward. And there was no possible way he could leave such a person in the cold morgue room, to be dissected and placed in the ground. No, she had to live, even if it meant damning her in the process.

He pulled off his shirt and tie, placing them neatly upon the morgue table adjacent to Esme, before leaning over her and sinking his teeth into her neck. It was mere precaution to do so, for hunting had show him how to feed efficiently and cleanly, but it would be incriminating and hard to explain if he were to have blood dripping down his front because he lost control with the divine taste of human blood, especially as sweet as hers. The warm liquid filled his mouth and he eagerly swallowed it until just enough was left to get his venom working in her system. "I will be back very soon," He whispered before pulling on his shirt and tie and leaving to return to his doctor duties. He made sure to clock out early rather than late, like he usually did, bundling her body in his arms and leaving in a flash before the coroner arrived.

The doctor placed her on his bed as Edward watched in the doorway, reading his thoughts to understand, which he was grateful for in the current moment. Some things were just hard to explain. "Carlisle, she...you..." Their eyes met and Carlisle didn't have to be a mind reader to know what he was trying to say.

"I'm sorry, Edward," He whispered, and his eyes held the pain and sincerity that so heavily weighed upon him right then.

"I know you are, Carlisle," Edward replied, laying a hand briefly on the doctor's shoulder, who took it to lay a soft kiss on before the forever seventeen year old pulled it away. "I'll be out hunting."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Carlisle alone with the one he saved, wincing at her soft whimpers. After three long, hard days of her suffering, he watched her eyes open, the bright crimson irises in deep contrast to the chocolate brown color from his memories. "Dr. Carlisle Cullen," She whispered, and he smiled and nodded.

_Edward was right._ The hurt that was evident in the other male's tone had left Carlisle speechless, but he understood now, what exactly Edward had read. _A subconscious motive._ He touched her hair, hand falling down to her neck, feeling her tremble slightly underneath his hand. "Miss Esme Platt," He whispered back and watched her shiver and sigh slightly; the reaction pulling the corners of his mouth into a soft, yet noticeable, smile.

So maybe the good doctor had fallen in love with sixteen year old Esme Platt as well.


End file.
